place," proceeded the Sergeant, "you will hear of the
three Indians again. You will hear of them in the neighbourhood, if Miss
Rachel remains in the neighbourhood. You will hear of them in London, if
Miss Rachel goes to London."

Having lost all interest in the three jugglers, and having thoroughly
convinced myself of my young lady's innocence, I took this second
prophecy easily enough. "So much for two of the three things that are
going to happen," I said. "Now for the third!"

"Third, and last," said Sergeant Cuff, "you will, sooner or later, hear
something of that money-lender in London, whom I have twice taken the
liberty of mentioning already. Give me your pocket-book, and I'll make
a note for you of his name and address--so that there may be no mistake
about it if the thing really happens."

He wrote accordingly on a blank leaf--"Mr. Septimus Luker,
Middlesex-place, Lambeth, London."

"There," he said, pointing to the address, "are the last words, on
the subject of the Moonstone, which I shall trouble you with for the
present. Time will show whether I am right or wrong. In the meanwhile,
sir, I carry away with me a sincere personal liking for you, which
I think does honour to both of us. If we don't meet again before my
professional retirement takes place, I hope you will come and see me in
a little house near London, which I have got my eye on. There will be
grass walks, Mr. Betteredge, I promise you, in my garden. And as for the
white moss rose----"

"The de'il a bit ye'll get the white moss rose to grow, unless you bud
him on the dogue-rose first," cried a voice at the window.

We both turned round. There was the everlasting Mr. Begbie, too eager
for the controversy to wait any longer at the gate. The Sergeant wrung
my hand, and darted out into the court-yard, hotter still on his side.
"Ask him about the moss rose, when he comes back, and see if I have left
him a leg to stand on!" cried the great Cuff, hailing me through the
window in his turn. "Gentlemen, both!" I answered, moderating them again
as I had moderated them once already.

"In the matter of the moss rose there is a great deal to be said on
both sides!" I might as well (as the Irish say) have whistled jigs to
a milestone. Away they went together, fighting the battle of the roses
without asking or giving quarter on either side. The last I saw of them,
Mr. Begbie was shaking his obstinate head, and Sergeant Cuff had got him
by the arm like a p